


Derek Didn't Know What To Do But Maybe Stiles Did

by tiedtogetherwithadagger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek, Boyd Feels, Character Study, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erica Feels, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Isaac Feels, Isaac Lahey & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Mild Gore, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Pack Mom, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Puppy Piles, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Stiles Takes Care Of The Pack, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Vernon Boyd & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, he just needs some help, just in the first scene and they immediate heal, until he's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedtogetherwithadagger/pseuds/tiedtogetherwithadagger
Summary: He let his head fall onto Stiles’ shoulder with a sigh of relief. He wasn't losing his pack, at least not tonight. Erica would be okay.“Thank you,” Derek exhaled into Stiles’ hoodie.“Always,” Stiles said.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just a self indulgent fic where we see more of the Derek's pack (AND BOYD) and how much Stiles and them care for each other. In season two Boyd's sister Alicia is briefly mentioned and it is implied that she passed away. Although it is not explicitly stated, her character and her death are referenced. 
> 
> As always, all errors are mine. If you find any, please send me an ask on my [tumblr](http://tiedtogetherwithadagger.tumblr.com/) and I will fix it ASAP. If there are any tags or warnings that I missed, please let me know and I'll add them right away. I want everyone's reading experience to be as enjoyable as possible.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek asks for help when he needs it. Stiles just so happens to be the one he keeps calling.

Derek didn’t know what to do. Erica was hurt and bleeding and she wasn’t healing. _Why wasn’t she healing?_ He couldn’t breathe, he was losing his pack again and he felt absolutely helpless. He didn’t know how to be an alpha. Why he had ever fooled himself into thinking he could do this long enough to turn four teenagers was a question he didn’t have time to think about at the moment.

“Der-ek,” Erica rasped out. There was blood coating her lips, staining her teeth a greasy burgundy and Derek couldn’t tell if it was coming from her nose or her mouth. “St- sti–”

 _Stiles_ , she was trying to say. Derek was struck dumb for a moment. He wanted to keep Stiles away from seeing them like this. This weak. Whether to protect Stiles or himself he wasn't sure. But this wasn’t about Derek, it was about Erica. His beta. If she needed Stiles here, then he would get him here.

Scrambling for his phone in his pocket, Derek slipped his blood-wet fingers across the screen as he typed in Stiles’ number.

“It’s Erica,” he said into the receiver when Stiles picked up. “We need you here. Now.”

He expected Stiles to start bombarding him with questions but he surprised Derek when he responded with a simple, “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

Derek looked at his phone desperately when the line went dead but he knew that Stiles was already on his way. Erica looked up at him with desperate eyes and Derek brushed her sweaty hair from her face. He tried to slow his heartbeat and get her to match to his own, surprising himself when it started working.

Erica was in severe, excruciating pain and her whimpers still permeating the air. Derek took as much pain from her as he could, but his power was quickly draining.

“I’m here! I’m here!” Stiles ran into the clearing surrounding the Hale house carrying a … duffel bag? There was a god awful smell coming from it. Derek hoped it was something magical to help them and not just his gym clothes.

“What’s in the bag?” Derek asked.

“Potions, herbs, salves, books.” At the look Derek gave him, he said, “What? Deaton’s been teaching me.”

As he talked, Stiles had planted himself next to Erica and started rummaging quickly through his duffel for something. “Aha!”

He pulled out a small vial of dark green liquid, struggling to pull the cap off before handing it to Derek. Stiles moved closer to Erica, reaching out before freezing with his arms outstretched.

“It’s okay, Batman,” Erica whispered to him. Derek heard him swallow before Stiles slowly moved deeper into her space and took her hand within his own.

“I’ve got you, Catwoman. You’re okay,” said Stiles. “Derek I need you to put some of your power into the solution.”

“How?” Derek was getting more and more tense by the second. Erica’s heartbeat was getting weaker and Derek was worried that they’ve already run out of time.

“Hold it in your hands and think about the power you have. Push that into it. Not all of it!” Stiles hurried to add. “Just think of Erica, you’ll know how much she needs.”

_You’ll know._

Derek searched for something in Stiles’ eyes, his face looking so vulnerable, and closed his eyes. Stiles could feel the temperature emanating from Derek’s body rise and lower in rapid succession. The liquid in the vial didn’t glow or give an obvious sign of success but Stiles still knew that whatever Derek had done, it had worked.

Erica gripped Stiles’ hand tighter and tried reaching for the vial before collapsing back down, screeching and whining in pain as her movement caused the gash in her side to leak out more blood. “Give it –  to me –” she panted.

Derek gave Stiles the vial, as if him giving it to her would somehow cause more harm. Stiles stared into Derek’s scared eyes for a moment before swallowing audibly and taking a shaky breath.

“I’ve got you, Erica. I’ve got you.” The words were whispered and rushed and Stiles closed his eyes before pouring the contents of the vial down Erica’s throat, hoping against hope that it would work even though he _knew_ it had to.

“Knew you would, Batman.”

In the silent moments that followed, Derek heard every ragged breath scrape out of Erica’s throat. He clutched her ankle, needing to be nearer to her, and gripped Stiles’ other hand. With each labored inhale and exhale, they waited with baited breath until Derek started to hear the click and crack of her bones tying together. With each bone came an agonized cry from Erica.

It was slow and painful for everyone, obviously mostly Erica. But it worked. The last thing to heal was her skin and Derek looked in wonder as it knitted itself back together. He let his head fall onto Stiles’ shoulder with a sigh of relief. He wasn't losing his pack, at least not tonight. Erica would be okay.

“Thank you,” Derek exhaled into Stiles’ hoodie.

“Always,” Stiles said.

***

When Isaac moved into Derek’s apartment after his father’s death, everyone knew there would be an adjustment period. After all, both boys were dealing with incredibly damaging skeletons in their closets. Almost everybody in Beacon Hills knew now that Kate Argent had been the one to start the fire that had killed Derek’s family. And it wasn’t much of a secret among their group that Isaac’s father had abused him for years, although the extent of it had yet to be determined. Derek saw every flinch that shook Isaac’s body when a door shut a little too abruptly, he noticed how frequently he apologized and how often it was for things he had no control over.

It was natural for them both to have difficulties expressing themselves. When Isaac wasn’t timid and afraid, he was angry and loud and snarky. It was fitting, then, that he was living with one of the founding fathers of the Angry, Snarky, Emotionally-Stunted Men Club.

Derek expected the nightmares. If meeting the boy while he was digging a grave in a cemetery didn’t immediately scream ‘I have troubles that keep me up at night,’ the smell of terror and exhaustion that had clung to him did the job well enough. Isaac didn’t scream himself out of his nightmares. He grit his teeth and looked almost serene even as his eyes clenched tighter. He accepted the pain, wanted it, thought he deserved it, thought he was being good if he was punishing himself. In a lot of ways, it reminded Derek of himself after the fire. Hell, it reminded him of himself two months ago when he first came back to Beacon Hills. But he couldn’t hang onto those behaviors anymore. Not when he was face to face with the damage of it written in every uneven drag of Isaac’s breath.

It was only a week after Isaac had moved into the apartment that Derek started to notice how little sleep the boy was getting. He tried remedying the situation by taking Isaac shopping for fluffier pillows and softer sheets, hoping that it would help at least in a more immediate sense. When that failed, Derek sighed and dialed the number he now had memorized – refusing to look him up by his contact because that would mean admitting to creating one for him in the first place – and waited for Stiles to pick up.

“Hey big guy. What’s up?” Derek refused to admit that hearing Stiles’ voice released some of the tension in his shoulders.

“I need help with Isaac. He can’t sleep,” said Derek. Stiles’ dad was an Army veteran, he probably had at least some experience with PTSD. It made sense for Derek to ask Stiles about what’s worked for his father in the past.

But, of course, instead of that happening, Stiles replied with, “I can come by in an hour? That sound okay to you?”

“Uh – yeah. Sure,” came Derek’s bewildered response.

***

“Do you think maybe it’s the bed?”

Before Derek has even fully opened the door, Stiles has already started talking. He pushed passed a dumbstruck Derek and started walking around the apartment, opening and closing doors and cabinets, peeking through curtains and pushing things around in drawers.

“I mean, he slept in that freezer too, right? Maybe he feels too exposed in a bed. Maybe he needs something more protected.”

“What, like a pillow fort?” Derek asked. It sounded like an actual suggestion and Stiles choked back on the image of Derek with his arms crossed sitting grumpily in the middle of a pillow fort with fairy lights glowing behind him. Yeah, Stiles was a little bit screwed.

Derek followed Stiles reluctantly as they stepped deeper into the apartment, if only to protect his home from further ransacking, and they eventually found themselves standing in the cramped bathroom.

“Um. Stiles. What are we doing here?” Derek was trying to throw his signature glare at him but Stiles was too busy looking at the tub.

“Maybe he needs something smaller. And with walls.” Stiles looked pointedly at the bathtub again and gestured with his hands at it in a way that said _voila._

“You want him to sleep in the bathtub?” Derek asked somewhat incredulously – ‘somewhat’ because this was still Stiles, what else could Derek expect. He knew his voice was doing that thing that made Stiles’ eye twitch, so he laid it on thicker. “ _Stiles._ ”

There’s ole twitchy.

“Look,” Stiles shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt to try, right?”

Considering that Derek was out of ideas, no, it couldn’t hurt. Derek was interrupted from replying by a sleepy looking Isaac, who came waddling into the room, carrying his big feather duvet and a cluster of pillows bunched up around him and under his arms. He paused in his tracks between Stiles and Derek, suddenly looking so unsure of himself, like he wasn’t supposed to be interrupting them.

Stiles’ eyebrows crease for a moment before he stepped forward and took the oversize duvet from Isaac, quickly setting up a makeshift bed in the tub for him. When he noticed that Isaac still looked nervous, he took the pillows from Isaac as well and climbed into the tub with an exaggerated yawn.

“It’ll be a tight fit but I think there’s enough room in here for you in here too,” Stiles said to Isaac.

Isaac looked up and Derek could see the vulnerability clear in his eyes, but he could clearly see hope there too. Derek gave him a small smile and tilted his head towards the tub in permission before he left to grab some more pillows from his bed. When he came back to the bathroom, Stiles and Isaac were huddled together in the tub, definitely not fitting but definitely not caring, and laughing. Something bright and warm crawled its way inside Derek’s chest and made his cheeks hurt. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and realized that _he was smiling._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Stiles campaigns for a pack meeting, he stumbles upon an unexpected friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look it's a day early! Expect the last update by next Friday (August 25th). I had so much fine writing this chapter and you finally get to see Boyd's and Stiles' friendship truly blossom in this chapter. Hope you guys like it!

Stiles wanted to have a pack get-together. Not one that forced them all to exist in the same place at the same time as they fought for survival but one that acknowledged that these people knew each other and _wanted_ to spend time together. In the case of Jackson, Stiles wouldn’t say he _wanted_ to spend time with the guy. But. Derek had said he was pack, so whatever.

The thing about new packs is that there were never any designated pack meetings. Isaac lived with Derek, and Boyd and Erica came over a few times a week. Jackson would slink his way into the apartment once a week, but would spend the whole day attached to Derek’s side. They trained sometimes. _But no pack meetings._

In all of the material that Stiles had pored over on pack dynamics, almost all of them had chapters dedicated to having organized communions. Or in English, meetings. It maintained the pack hierarchy (a whole other issue that Stiles would delve into later), encouraged everyone to participate in inter-pack discourse, and ensured that each member was pulling their weight in protecting and nurturing the pack. Obviously, they had skipped a few steps. Or, you know, twelve.

At any rate, now that Derek had settled enough into his role as the alpha, _there should be meetings_. At one point, Stiles had even held the notion that they were, in fact, having pack meetings but that Stiles just wasn’t invited. And, after falling into a three day hole of Reese's and _Project Runway_ , Derek had pushed some sense into him. So no. Still no meetings.

Obviously, this meant that the duty to organize them was left to Stiles.

“What are you doing this Friday?” Stiles asked Boyd. They were sitting at their lunch table at school and as soon as the question left Stiles’ mouth, Boyd’s eyebrows lept up.

“Are you asking me out?”

He couldn’t tell if Boyd was joking or not – his humor was something Stiles had yet to parse out – so he changed tactics.

“I think we should try to hang out. As a pack. You know, together and … stuff,” Stiles stumbled out.

Boyd’s answering grin was as unexpected as it was bright as the sun. Stiles felt himself relax and give a smile of his own.

“Cool. Awesome, okay. Friday it is!” Stiles immediately launched into a rant about pizza toppings when Boyd interrupted.

“I can’t Friday. I have to work,” said Boyd. He looked genuinely disappointed, like someone had taken away his puppy.

Now, logically, Stiles knew Boyd had a job. It wasn’t like the kid got paid to be a werewolf – no matter how many hours it took up in his life – he had to make a living somehow. But the only time Boyd had even mentioned his job was a month ago when Stiles needed to the keys to the ice rink. And – nope, not even then. He had heard about Boyd’s job from Harley.

“Oh. Okay, well. We can do it another time,” said Stiles. He got a noncommittal hum in response and Stiles pursed his lips. “What exactly do you do at the ice rink? Like I get that you drive around in a zamboni – which is cool as balls, by the way –”

“I didn’t know balls were cool.”

Now it was Stiles’ time to grin. “Oh they definitely are.”

There was a sharp glint in Boyd’s eyes as he said, “I’ll be sure to let Derek know that then.”

Stiles choked.

“I’m trying to have a heart to heart, dude!” Stiles croaked.

“And your heart is ‘balls’?” Boyd threw him a fake concerned face.

“You know what? I give up. Nevermind. Heart to heart time is officially over. Give me your apple, you don’t deserve such sweet fruit.”

Boyd snorted from across the table. This whole conversation had gone way off script from what Stiles was expecting but – he wasn’t complaining. He was actually enjoying himself, if he was honest, and he wondered why he had never spent much time with Boyd in the first place.

“So. Your shifts ever get lonely?”

***

“You know, this would be the perfect place to sing. I bet the acoustics are great,” said Stiles.

To prove his point, he stretched his neck back and bellowed out a howl. Or at least, Boyd thought it was supposed to be a howl. They were sitting cross-legged in the middle of the ice with a box of half-empty, now almost completely cold, pepperoni pizza between them.

“I do sometimes,” Boyd said.

“Do what? Sing?” Stiles’ voice sounded a bit incredulous but could you blame him? At Boyd’s small nod, Stiles’ jaw dropped and he said flatly, “What.”

Boyd huffed a laugh and took another bite out of his slice. Deliberately speaking around the pizza in his mouth because he knew it bothered Stiles, he asked, “What do you wanna hear?”

“Wait, really? You’ll sing for me?” Stiles knew he sounded like an overenthusiastic child but he couldn’t care less. This was a moment he would remember for the rest of his life. He would tell his grandchildren about the time Boyd serenaded him in the middle of an ice rink. Or who knows? Maybe this will just be another one of Boyd’s countless quirks that no one really spent enough time with him to find out.

“What do you normally sing?” Stiles asked.

Boyd responded by starting to hum an indistinct melody. After a few moments, Stiles recognized it as the opening bars to Stevie Wonder’s _Isn’t She Lovely_. It shocked Stiles at first, but he quickly got over it so he could spend his time just enjoying the rumble of Boyd’s voice. He dropped the uptempo pace of the song and sang it slower, a touch mournful. Stiles swallowed down an unexpected lump in his throat as the words reminded him of his mother.

Stiles lay back on the ice and hummed along to Boyd’s soft voice. He stayed on his back in the silence that draped over them once the song ended, blinking back the wetness in his eyes.

They stayed quiet longer than Stiles would normally be comfortable with. Boyd was the one who broke the silence.

“I used to sing that to my sister all the time,” he said.

Stiles sat back up. He didn’t even know Boyd _had_ a sister. He paused before saying as much and took a surveying look at Boyd. The subtle slump of his shoulders, the way his eyes stayed focused on a small nick in the ice, the fingers that were playing with the strings of his hoodie.

Oh.

Maybe he didn’t have a sister, not anymore.

Stiles could only point to a few times in his life where he was left feeling speechless and entirely incompetent. He guessed he was adding another moment to the list.

“My mom’s favorite song was _Uptown Girl_. She used to make waffles every Saturday morning and she would dance with me around the kitchen singing it.”

Boyd lay back on the ice so he and Stiles were next to each other. He wouldn’t look at Stiles but he nodded. He understood.

Boyd’s body tensed for a second, then relaxed. Thankfully, Stiles was now well versed in werewolf body language and knew it meant that someone from the pack was nearby. He licked the palms of his hands clean, and sat up to greet them. He still had two fingers in his mouth when he saw the unmistakable leather boots of Derek Hale only three feet away from him. If his fingers weren’t attached to anything – like his arm – he probably would have swallowed them.

“Stiles,” Derek stated. He meant to form it as a question but, well, Derek meant to do a lot of things.

Stiles’ fingers left his mouth with a loud _pop_ that echoed in the ice rink.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles was never one to beat around the bush.

Derek looked at Boyd, slid his gaze over to the box of pizza, then shifted it back to Stiles. It was only then that Stiles noticed the takeout bag from Panera in Derek’s hand. _Panera?_ His mind threw at him, but this wasn’t really the time. Stiles looked back at the half empty pizza box and cringed internally. Oops.

“I came by to pick up Boyd. He usually gets hungry after work…” Derek lifted up the bag slightly, avoiding looking either of them in the eye. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood and Stiles was struck with confusion as to _why_ Derek would be uncomfortable. Boyd was his pack and there was apparently a routine here that Stiles was interrupting. If anyone should have been uncomfortable, it probably should have been Stiles. He had no right to be here.

“Sorry,” Stiles said softly, already getting up from the ice. He got in four paces towards the bleachers before Derek’s hand met his shoulder.

“Why?” Derek asked.

Why was he sorry? Why was he here? Why pizza? Stiles’ face contorted into one of annoyed confusion. He may know more about werewolf body language, but that did not mean he was anywhere nearer to knowing what the hell Derek ever meant.

“I just… it seemed like it could get boring working here alone,” Stiles shrugged. “Once everyone leaves, it kind of makes the place seem, I don’t know, empty.”

Derek’s eyebrows did something complicated and his mouth fell slightly open, like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how. Boyd looked between the two of them with this sort of constipated-amused face.

“Wait – You –” Derek paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Will you be at the pack meeting next Friday?”

Stiles gaped at him, frozen in his place for far longer than necessary. Did that mean he was considered pack? Did Derek need his help with something? Either way, Stiles knew that next to nothing could stop him from going.

“Yeah,” he said. He tried to smirk at Derek but ended up just looking like the Joker. Ignoring Boyd’s cackles from behind him, he passed Derek on his way out and patted him on the shoulder. It did not turn into a caress. It definitely did not. “See you then, buddy.”

***

Stiles didn’t know what he expected when he showed up at the loft that Friday, but it was not Jackson.

“Dude,” he said eloquently. “You’re still alive?”

Jackson had opened the door for him before he even had a chance to raise his fist to knock. It caught Stiles off guard and he was fixed to his spot for a moment, looking between Jackson, the aluminum door – which was starting to rust, Derek should really get on that – and the living room behind him. He could just make out Erica’s bright blonde hair before Jackson shifted in his place, effectively blocking the door.

“You’ve seen me at school every day, Stiles. You gave me your Little Debbie brownie the other day at lunch.” Jackson spared him a flat look along with an eyeroll.

Stiles grinned smugly. “Betcha didn’t know what I did to the brownie first, did you?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You literally grabbed it out of the box and handed it to me before saying my hair was _spiky_.”

At Stiles’ smirk and raised eyebrow, he leaned in closer and said emphatically, “ _My hair is not spiky, Stiles_.”

Erica took that moment to pop up behind Jackson’s shoulder like she’d been crouched there the whole time. She hummed and tapped her chin thoughtfully before weighing in on the conversation.

“Mmm, I think I’ve got to go with Stiles on this one. You’ve got early 2000’s boyband written all over that.” Her grin was wide and mischievous as she tried to ruffle Jackson’s hair. He dodged once and when Erica came back again, he dove away from her claws. Literal claws. _Werewolves,_ Stiles thought sardonically.

Stiles took the opportunity to duck around them and enter the loft. It was cleaner than Stiles remembered and there were _actual curtains_ hanging by the windows. He immediately imagined Derek cleaning around the apartment, getting the place as presentable and homey as he could for his pack. The thought warmed Stiles’ heart.

“I mean, at least it isn’t a Bieber cut,” Isaac interrupted his thoughts. The resulting pout that graced Jackson’s face made Stiles snicker in glee.

“Aw, don’t contort that pretty face of yours, Jackson. You know what they say, it might stay that way,” Stiles said.

“Shut up, will you?” Jackson retorted.

“Ooooh, you’re actually asking me? How polite,” Stiles beamed, the glint in his eye nearly outshined a star. “Wow, what did I do to deserve such sweetness from you?”

“You gave me a brownie,” Jackson grumped.

Stiles snorted again, thoughts going to someone else he wanted to give a brownie to. Just the thought of Derek always seemed to make his heart speed up. Boyd gave him a curious look when he noticed the quickening of Stiles’ heartbeat. Damn Boyd and his stealthy werewolf observation skills.

“So, uh, where’s Derek?” Stiles asked casually.

He was met with several pairs of eyebrows. Okay, maybe not so casually.

“He’s picking up dinner,” said Boyd, eyes narrowed.

Erica looked like she was about to tease the crap out of Stiles but Jackson beat her to his prey. Backing away as subtly as he could, Stiles looked from one pair of eyes to the other.

“Why so concerned, Stiles?” Jackson asked. _Asked_ was overreaching, though, taunted was more accurate.

Stiles stayed silent because he knew if he said the ‘no reason’ that was on the top of his tongue, the werewolves would hear the lie immediately.

Instead he said, “Oh, good. I'm starving.”

“Mhm, sure,” agreed Erica. She had that predatory look on her face that she usually only reserved for watching reality TV. Boyd was trying to hide an amused smile, but at least refrained from commenting. Jackson looked about ready to get into it again, if the smirk on his face was anything to go by. Isaac just looked bored.

“Here, Stiles,” Boyd said. He moved the skein of yarn off the cushion next to him on the couch to make room for Stiles. When Stiles plopped down next to him, Boyd showed him the scarf he was currently working on. “Do you know how to crochet?”

“No, not really. My aunt showed me how to needlepoint but she never really approved of the pictures I ended up with,” said Stiles.

“What were the pictures?” Boyd asked.

Stiles took a dramatic pause, his lip twitching. “Balls.”

They both burst into laughter, each time they looked over at each other only furthering their outbursts. Erica and Jackson shared an awkward look over their shoulders and shrugged.

Isaac perked up suddenly and got up to open the door. The doorway remained empty for a moment before Derek appeared carrying in several bags of Panera. He nodded his thanks to Isaac.

Stiles shook his head. He would never get used to werewolves.

Derek made his way over to the kitchen counter, passing the pack in the living room. Stiles noticed the bulge of his biceps as he balanced the food in his arms and wondered what they would feel like around his waist. Mmm. It was only after the startled look Boyd gave him that Stiles realized he moaned out loud. Whoops. Distract, Stiles, distract now.

“Dude, seriously?” Stiles asked Derek. “What’s the deal with Panera? Is it, like, a werewolf-friendly company or something? Is their CEO some Alpha and you’re doing your werewolfy duty to support him?”

Derek’s lips quirked at each of Stiles’ questions. He set the bags down on the counter and started to take the food out.

“They make their food organically. It just tastes better than processed foods,” Derek admitted. When Stiles took a large breath to argue, Derek continued on. “And trust me, Stiles. Almost everything you eat tastes processed.”

Stiles didn’t even know where to start with that so he didn’t. The heavy smell of yeast from the French bread filled the air and made Stiles lick his lips. He got up from the couch to help Derek with the food, running a hand through Erica’s hair as he passed.

“I mean, I’m not complaining, big guy.” Stiles took a big bite out of one of the sandwiches and grinned at Derek around the the bite. “Free food is free food.”

Derek’s eyes went soft around the corners and he huffed a laugh. Stiles’ eyes trailed Derek's thumb as it rose to rest in the corner of Stiles’ mouth, making him cross-eyed, and wiped at the sauce that had pooled there. His eyes stayed glued to Derek’s thumb when he pulled back and Derek sucked it into his mouth, licking the sauce away. Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and his eyes became the size of saucers. He cleared his throat, and then cleared it again when that didn't help _at all._ He could feel the eyes of the pack on the back of his head and the heat in his cheeks deepened.

Stiles ducked to hide his blush and walked to the cabinet above the sink to grab some plates. There were several more to choose from than the two chipped plates Stiles last remembered. He whipped his head around to look incredulously at Derek, who stood across the island from him.

Derek must have felt Stiles’ eyes on him or heard heard Stiles’ neck crack or something, because he turned his head and met Stiles’ gaze head on with a knowing grin.

“Problem?” Derek raised an eyebrow and walked over to Stiles, taking half of the plates from his precarious grip before following him back to the table.

The table that had apparently been ransacked by the four betas while they were away.

“Guys, seriously? You couldn’t have waited two seconds?” Stiles threw his arms out wide in exasperation and knocked the open bag of chips out of Derek’s hands. It fell onto the floor, but not before its contents exploded in the air and fell into Derek’s soft-to-the-touch – not that Stiles had touched it (he totally had) – hair. Stiles’ eyes widened comically when the Hale Eyebrows came in full force. “Uh, huh, he-hey buddy. No need to work those eyebrows so hard.”

Stiles stepped into Derek’s space and plucked one of the many chip crumbs from Derek’s hair before licking the salt off his thumb.

“That’s disgusting,” said Derek. Then, because he was a mature twenty-year-old, he bent forward and shook the rest of the crumbs from his hair into Stiles’ face. Stiles sputtered back before releasing a cackle. He bumped his hip against Derek's and offered him one of the chocolate chunk cookies left over on the table.

“How do you feel about their cookies? Organic enough for you?”

Derek huffed out another laugh. They were close enough for Stiles to feel Derek's breath on his face. Stiles closed his eyes for a brief moment and swallowed. He was just starting to worry about inappropriate boners when Derek leaned in closer and took half of the cookie from Stiles’ hand into his mouth. It was, quite honestly, the largest bite of anything that Stiles had ever seen and it made his mouth go dry. Derek took his time chewing the cookie and swallowed.

“I think it’ll do,” he finished. He gave Stiles a lopsided smile that turned into a smirk once he saw the dumbstruck look on Stiles’ face. “Have a cookie, Stiles.”

Stiles cursed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries his best to take care of Derek, but maybe he doesn't need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished!!!! Ackkk guys, I am so excited for you to read this! (Sorry it's a few days late, or weeks shhh) but I will say that it is longer than the first two chapters combined. So! I hope that makes up for it <3 Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated.

Since the pack meeting, Stiles had started seeing more and more of the pack spending their time at Derek’s place. It warmed something inside of him. Stiles was a humble man – occasionally – and only took eighty percent of the credit for the smile that appeared more freely on Derek’s face. After all, it _was_  his idea. What he was unprepared for, however, was for the sourwolf to acknowledge it.

“Come again?” Stiles blinked. Then blinked again. He had to be dreaming, right? There was no way that Derek would ever have the emotional aptitude to thank someone for their help. He pinched himself and winced when the stinging in his arm told him that he was, in fact, awake.

“Stop that,” Derek admonished. He batted Stiles’ pinch-happy fingers away and began to massage the pain from his skin. A small breath rushed from Stiles’ open mouth and his eyes dropped to where Derek held his arm.

“I said thank you, Stiles. You have been thanked before, haven’t you?” Derek joked. At least, Stiles thought that he was joking. It was entirely possible that Derek’s voice was dripping with concern, for all that Stiles knew. He figured he was right when he saw the glimmer in Derek’s eyes that usually meant he was enjoying himself. And that there would be a pun.

“Har har. Yes, I have been thanked, thank you very much. Just… Not by you,” said Stiles.

Derek harrumphed. That couldn’t be right, could it? Surely Derek had to have thanked _Stiles_ of all people before, hadn’t he? He frowned. _Hadn’t he?_ His eyebrows furrowed in thought only to be interrupted by Stiles’ bright laughter.

“Dude, I have no clue what’s going on in that head of yours right now, but you look hilarious.” Derek might have thought that Stiles was deflecting what would be a serious moment, but he wasn’t sure that he was close enough to him to make that kind of observation. “Your eyebrows are all grrr–” Stiles scrunched up his forehead. “And your mouth is all–” He tried to purse his lips exaggeratedly while baring his teeth. He couldn’t hold the image long enough for it to be effective, keeling over in laughter once again.

“Stiles.”

“No,no. Derek, you–” Stiles tried to catch his breath between spurts of laughter. “You’re just so–” His voice raised several octaves as he tried to gasp in enough air to speak. Pretty soon Derek would have to cover his ears if Stiles got any louder.

Derek threw him an unimpressed look to quell Stiles’ hysteria, but Stiles’ eyes were cinched tight in mirth. Derek tried battling the upwards tilt of his mouth but it seemed almost impossible when he was met with Stiles’ unbridled joy. He swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat at him so carefree. Since Stiles had first become acquainted with the supernatural, Derek had noticed his vibrant personality losing the spark it had once held so firmly. Derek’s gaze softened at the renewed laugh lines around Stiles’ eyes. He had missed them.

“Nevermind,” he cleared his throat. “Forget I said anything, alright?” Derek huffed, schooling his features as Stiles finally glanced up.

“What? _No_. No no no no. You said _thank you_ , Derek. That’s not something we can just gloss over. I think we need to celebrate this. Mark it on our calendar for all of posterity to remember as the day Derek Hale thanked his best friend–” Derek raised an eyebrow at that. “–best _acquaintance_ –” Pursed lips. “Okay, fine! Best person semi-affiliated with him _sometimes_ , Stiles Stilinski.” He wagged his finger in Derek’s face, making no room for arguments. “No takebacks.”

“I don’t have a calendar.”

Stiles groaned.

“Well, now you’re just being intentionally obstinate.” Stiles rolled his eyes at where Derek had his arms crossed over his very delectable – _very normal_ – chest. _Jesus, Stiles, get a hold of yourself._ He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fine, Derek. I will get you a calendar. Happy?”

Derek popped his eyebrows pointedly at Stiles, like that had been his goal all along. Stiles shook his head and felt his lips stretch into a fond smile. Weirdo.

***

With a content sigh, Derek rolled over in bed and furrowed deeper into the soft sheets. He woke up slowly, heartbeat steady and constant, with the smell of pack in the air providing a comforting touch between his shoulderblades. He breathed in the smell of Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Jackson, and… Stiles?

Derek blinked open his eyes. Granted, it was normal for Stiles’ scent to be present in the loft. He was integral to the pack, after all. The smell of pack wouldn’t be the same without Stiles’ earthy and spicy undertones fully interlaced. But Derek could smell Stiles fresh in the air, like he had just visited Derek’s bedroom.

With a grunt, Derek sat up in bed and stretched his arms over his head. The room around him looked undisturbed and the only heartbeat he could hear was Isaac’s, calm and even in his sleep. He extended his hearing, straining to hear the chug of a familiar Jeep, but was only met with the dull whirring of traffic.

Derek reluctantly climbed out of the warmth of his bed and grunted when his bones cracked. He was only twenty, for God’s sake. But Derek knew that with each attack he and the pack faced, his body may heal from but will never fully recover. When his feet hit the floor, he cringed back with a sharp intake of air at the ice-cold floors. Dammit. Derek tried to prevent the chill from entering his body by gingerly stepping on the tips of his toes while he inched towards the bathroom to check on Isaac.

Isaac was still sleeping in the tub, but Derek took comfort in knowing that he was at least _sleeping_ now. The only downside to their solution at the moment was that the loft only had one bathroom. No matter how many times Isaac tried to assure him that it was fine for Derek to use the bathroom while he was sleeping there, Derek couldn’t. There was something instinctively wrong about baring himself to Isaac while he was vulnerable and asleep. Derek shoved away the image of Kate in his mind and swallowed.

He quietly opened the bathroom door and saw the steady rise and fall of Isaac’s chest where he lay resting in the tub. The tension in his shoulders he had been unaware of suddenly released as Derek heaved a relieved sigh. Isaac rolled over and Derek winced when he heard the thump of Isaac’s elbow hit the side of the tub. He thought it would wake him up, but he only let out a small, satisfied sigh and fell deeper into sleep. Derek frowned.

They still had a lot of work to do when it came to the comfort Isaac still sought out in pain. The pack had helped Isaac feel more comfortable with affectionate touches, but the road to recovery was far from over.

Derek stepped forward and brushed the curls out of Isaac’s eyes. When he felt Isaac press into his palm, he couldn’t help but smile. After having only Laura as pack for so long, and then losing her, too, Derek had felt so alone for so long. Living in the same space as Isaac just made breathing easier. His new pack could never replace the family he lost, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t create another.

Derek tugged the comforter higher up over Isaac’s shoulders and tucked him in. It was still pretty early, the sun only just starting to come out, and he was reluctant to wake Isaac any earlier than necessary. Instead, Derek opened the medicine cabinet as quietly as he could and grabbed his toothbrush to use in the kitchen sink, gently closing the door behind him.

The scent of Stiles became thicker on the main floor and Derek’s nose twitched when he noticed the faint smell of pork and fried onions. Did Stiles come over in the middle of the night and order takeout? It wouldn’t be the first time.

A loud rumble came from Derek’s stomach.

“Of course,” Derek groaned. He was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday but Erica had needed help with her Spanish assignment, so he’d pushed it back. Which was obviously the worst decision he could’ve made – okay, maybe not the worst, let’s be real – because now he was starving. Ravenous. Famished. Emaciated. And he may have eaten a dictionary in his sleep.

Looking around for any signs of a takeout box and whimpering – he _did not_ whimper, he was an alpha – when he found none, Derek slumped his way over to the fridge. He banged his head against the fridge. He remembered buying Count Chocula for Isaac a couple months back when he first needed a place to stay. After all, who didn’t like chocolate cereal? Isaac, apparently. He only ate Cheerios, the heathen. Maybe there was enough milk to drown out the stale flavor of the cereal.

Only, when Derek opened the fridge, he was not faced with the empty white space he was expecting. No, instead, it was _filled_ with containers upon containers of food stacked neatly on every shelf. He picked up the one in front with a note on it.

_You can’t live off of Panera forever, sourwolf. Eat this, it’s organic. – S_

Derek couldn’t wipe the smile off his face all day.

***

“So… Do you think you could teach me how to crochet?”

Stiles stood on Boyd’s front porch outside his home early Saturday morning, looking bright and chipper. Boyd took immediate offense. He stared at him blankly for a long moment before a yawn dragged its way out of him. He took a step back from the ball of energy practically vibrating in front of him and rubbed at his eyes. When stiles was still standing there, turning his wide, innocent – although Boyd knew better – eyes on him, he sighed. Resigned to his fate, he left the door open behind him and walked back inside.

“Do you know what time it is?” Boyd asked.

“Yep. Seven forty-five. Good on you for getting up this early, Boyd, my boy!” Stiles adopted a British accent as he spoke and tugged at his imaginary lapels. Boyd just shook his head with a reluctant smile.

“Thanks, Stiles,” came Boyd’s sarcastic reply.

“Yep, yep, you’re welcome.” Stiles stretched out his vowels, “So… Can you?”

“Hmm?” Boyd yawned again and shuffled over to the kitchen. It was only then that Stiles realized that this was the first time he had visited Boyd at his house. It felt natural to be here, the place was homey and smelled like jasmine. It reminded Stiles of his grandmother’s, actually, especially the kitchen. The cabinetry was off-white and there were watercolor lilies and daffodils painted on the trim. There was even a doily – _probably crocheted_ , Stiles thought – on the round maple table placed in the small alcove in front of the windows.

Stiles took a seat on one of the barstools at the counter across from Boyd and watched his movements. Boyd pulled out a jar of coffee grounds and prepared a large pot. A _very_ large pot. Stiles raised his eyebrow at him, wondering not for the first time why werewolves still drank coffee if not for the caffeine.

“Crochet. Boyd.” Stiles snapped his fingers in front of Boyd’s sleep-addled eyes, making the boy blink back. “Can you teach me how to crochet?”

“Hmm.”

Stiles groaned. “You’re almost as impossible as Derek. Oh my God. That’s why he chose you, isn’t it?”

“He chose me because you told him to,” Boyd said around another yawn. He sat back against the counter after finally getting the coffee maker going and watched as each drop of liquid made its slow trek into the carafe. This was going to be a long morning.

“Wait, what? What are you talking about?” Stiles dropped his joking demeanor immediately and made an aborted move towards him. Boyd could hear each whoosh of blood through Stiles’ system as the pace of his pulse quickened.

“Derek said once that he chose us because of you,” said Boyd. He filled the two mugs he had grabbed from the cabinet above the sink and pushed one towards Stiles. “Black, right?”

Stiles cleared his throat past an unexpected lump. “Uh, yeah. Thanks,” he said faintly.

The silence in the kitchen became deafening and Stiles began to tap his fingers mindlessly. It grated on Boyd’s nerves, but he knew that the action helped Stiles calm himself so he let him have it. He knew Stiles would start talking soon, anyways.

“Because of me?” Stiles said it so quietly even Boyd’s super hearing – shut up, Boyd, that’s what it’s called – had trouble hearing him.

He nodded. “He didn’t really elaborate but, yeah, that’s what he said.”

Stiles hunched over his mug, wrapping his hands protectively around its warmth. He had no idea what this meant but he definitely wasn’t going to ask Derek about it. Their relationship had always been shaky but it had settled down recently. He didn’t want to upset that calm. It seemed as though they were balancing on the edge of _something_ and any push would blow them over. He was terrified of where they would land.

“You ready?” Boyd poked him in the shoulder.

“Uh… For what, exactly?”

“To learn how to crochet,” Boyd said with a grin.

***

After a long afternoon where Boyd tried his damnedest to teach Stiles the basics of crocheting, they went back to the loft. But not before Boyd’s grandma shoved a plate of snickerdoodle cookies into his hands.

“How are the lessons going?” Erica asked when they walked in. She was sitting on the end of the couch, surrounded by open textbooks with a notebook in her lap. She chewed on the end of her pen before scribbling something down.

“Boyd’s mad at me for asking what the proper way to hold the crochet hooks was.” Stiles threw a disdainful look at Boyd, his lips curving up involuntarily.

Boyd gaped. “That is decidedly _not_ what happened, Stiles. You called them _sticks_. And said that there was no proper way, that you ‘just hold them’. Ring a bell?”

“Nope. Nada. Now gimme Gamma Bonnie’s cookies.” Stiles made grabby hands at Boyd’s backpack.

“Cookies?” Erica, Isaac, and Jackson – where the hell did Jackson even appear from, honestly? – shot their heads up and spoke in unison. It reminded Stiles of the twins in _The Shining_ , just with an extra kanima thrown into the mix.

“Are you finished with your homework?” Derek’s voice boomed from his bedroom upstairs. “No cookies until you’ve finished your homework!”

Stiles snorted, Derek was such a _dad_. Erica and Jackson heaved collective sighs, sharing an annoyed look and chorusing, “Fine,” while Isaac jumped on Boyd’s backpack to dig out the cookies.

“Uh, Derek? You there, buddy? ‘Cause all I see is a closed door and a disembodied voice,” said Stiles.

The corner of Isaac’s lips tugged down exaggeratedly and he raised his eyebrows comically, tilting his head back and forth in a move that screamed ‘warning: impending sarcasm’.

“You can see voices, Stiles? Actually,” Isaac sat up straighter and held his palm up. “You know what, now that I think about it, yes. Yes, for you, Stiles, this makes perfect sense.”

“I feel like I’ve been insulted but I can’t point to exactly where,” Stiles straight-faced.

Erica lifted up a single finger and pointed to Isaac.

“Thank you, Erica,” Stiles couldn’t help the fond smile that graced his face.

They fell into a rhythm that would have surprised Stiles a month ago, but now only made him beam. He was proud of his pack. Erica was finishing her homework, getting help from Derek – who deigned to leave his room – every once in awhile. But Derek never stayed downstairs with them. Each time he helped Erica with a homework problem, he would climb back up the stairs and lock himself in his room. It was maddening, and Stiles was quickly growing frustrated.

“Okay, did I do something?” Stiles all but shouted. The question was aimed at the room at large but Stiles knew that Derek could hear him and he wanted _him_ to answer. He didn’t, of course.

Everyone looked away from him only to share looks with each other. Stiles panicked a bit. Things were bad when _Jackson_ , of all people, avoided him.

“Guys?” he asked shakily.

It was Boyd who stepped up. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Stiles.” He sighed, “Derek just– needs some time alone right now.”

“Why, though? Come on, Boyd. What happened?” Stiles pleaded.

Boyd took Stiles by the shoulders and looked beseechingly into his eyes. “Nothing, okay?” He widened his eyes and tilted his head pointedly at Stiles, silently saying ‘We’ll talk about this outside of werewolf ears’. Stiles pursed his lips. He wasn’t happy, but he took his victories when he got them.

“Fine,” muttered Stiles.

Jackson put on a Lifetime movie once Erica finished her homework and they all gathered together on the couch, deciding to have the balanced meal of cookies for dinner. All in all, it was a good night. Stiles didn’t notice that most of the room had fallen asleep until he was nodding off himself. Jackson was curled into a ball on the couch, his feet tucked under Isaac’s thighs for warmth and his head cradled on Erica’s lap. Stiles snorted. To see Jackson finally shed himself of the douche mask and feel comfortable showing them his vulnerabilities was kind of awe-inspiring. The dude had gone through a lot – well, they all have, really – and it was nice to see that they had all made it to the other side.

Erica’s fingers ran sluggishly through Stiles’ hair and he leaned further into the massage, before sleep swept over him.

***

Derek stepped down the spiral staircase with his leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He grabbed his keys from the ceramic bowl Isaac had made for him and nudged Boyd’s shoulder.

“Hey, wake up. It’s time for work,” Derek murmured.

“Boyd’s head fell back against the couch, jerking a loud snore out of him. Derek huffed a soft laugh at the ridiculous picture his pack made on the couch. Before he could think too much of it, he dug his phone out of his pocket and snapped a quick picture of them.

Of course, he forgot that he had the sound on. Of course, the click of the shutter and bright flash woke Boyd up. Of course. Derek hated his life.

Boyd blinked up at his alpha, breathing out through his nose and full on cat-stretching. He pulled his fist to his mouth to hide a yawn and eyed Derek warily.

“Did… Did you just–?”

“No,” Derek interrupted. Given the raised eyebrow Boyd gave him, he looked less authoritative and nonchalant and more like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Derek’s ears tinged pink and he grimaced. “Shut up.”

Boyd grinned like the cat that caught the canary and leaned back with his arms crossed. “Mhm. Sure. I believe you.”

Derek put a finger to his lips and tilted his head pointedly to the rest of the pack on the couch. He gingerly removed Stiles’ feet from Boyd’s lap and tucked them carefully underneath Stiles’ legs, not wanting to wake him up. He had noticed the bruises under Stiles’ eyes growing darker in the last week and couldn’t help but wonder if he had anything to do with it. Him and Stiles were in a good spot, though. He couldn’t think of anything that he had done to cause Stiles stress, but couldn’t stop worrying that he was to blame.

The hairs on the back of Derek’s neck bristled and he looked up from where he had been gazing at Stiles to see Boy giving him a strange look. Derek cleared his throat and looked away.

“Come on, let’s go,” mumbled Derek. Not even looking behind him to see if his beta was following, he walked through door.

When Boyd caught up to him in the hall, he extended his arm out to Derek like he was going to tug him back, but he paused at the look Derek threw him. Lifting his hands in the air, palms out, he said, “Not touching. Just–”

A rumble started low in Derek’s chest. Boyd rolled his eyes and shot in front of him, blocking his path.

“Look. All I’m saying is, it’s okay if you–” Boyd paused, knowing that if he said Stiles’ name, Derek would shut him down. “It’s okay if you show _the pack_ that you like… us. I’m sure _the pack_ would be completely fine with it, too. Probably more than fine. _The pack_ is probably too afraid to make the first move.”

“What?” Derek looked incredibly confused. “Boyd. The pack knows that I like them, I’m their alpha. What are you talking about?”

Boyd sighed. “Nevermind. Just– If you were worried that spending more time with a certain member of the pack would mess up the pack dynamics, it won’t. We’re okay with it,” said Boyd.

Derek froze, then continued walking. He threw Boyd a ‘I think you’re crazy but I’m not going to point it out because I like you’ face.

“Okay,” he drew out, making eyes at the elevator.

“That new Avengers movie is showing next week. Stiles has been talking nonstop about it,” Boyd said pointedly.

“Hmm,” was all that came from Derek.

It made something itch inside Derek, though. He wasn’t completely stupid, he knew Boyd was giving him the pack’s blessing. But. Derek was afraid of hurting Stiles. It was bad enough that he was the only human in a pack of werewolves. If Stiles was dating him? It wouldn’t just be his body that could get hurt. Derek knew more than anything that emotional scars never truly healed.

But. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Stiles’ smile made sparks appear in his eyes. Or how Derek’s heart would always calm as soon as he caught sight of Stiles.

 _But_ , Derek thought. The word sounded like a promise.

***

Stiles woke up to the sound of hiccuping gulps to his right. Turning his head, he saw Erica huddled at the end of the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. Her fists were clenched tight where they clung desperately to her shins and her head was hidden behind her knees. Stiles could see her whole body shake with each jagged breath. Isaac and Jackson were curled around each other, still fast asleep, but Boyd was gone.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Stiles lunged forward, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He spoke quietly, “Erica, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?” Stiles casted his eyes around him, trying to find the source of her turmoil. Seeing the only thing out of place, he asked, “Is it… Boyd?”

That made Erica’s head pop up and she glowered at Stiles. “No, Stiles. It’s not Boyd. I–” Her words broke off as another shudder wracked her body.

“Okay. Not Boyd. That’s cool. So, um, was it the – um, movie?” He couldn’t for the life of him remember what the movie had been about, but recalled a kindergartener stalking the mayor. So, maybe?

“It was just a dream, okay? I’m fine.”

Stiles sighed. He pulled her deeper into his arms and leaned his body against the armrest so Erica was cradled between his legs, her back to his chest. Wrapping his arms tighter around her stomach and dipping his head over her shoulder, he asked delicately, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The silence that met him was long but not entirely uncomfortable. Erica’s breaths evened out, her body held tense for a long moment before she sagged against him. It took some more time, but she eventually took a deep breath and and spoke.

“I had a seizure.” Stiles whole body stiffened before he realized that she was talking about her dream. “I… thought that I was rejecting the bite. I know that doesn’t make any sense but I guess I thought it was a belated response or something, I don’t know.” Erica paused briefly to take a steadying breath. “But I just kept having seizures. Every time one was over, another started and I couldn’t breathe– I couldn’t call for help. I was alone, Stiles, and no one was there to help and I just–”

“Shhh. Shh, it’s okay, Erica. It was just a dream, okay? You’re safe.” Rocking them back and forth in small circles on the couch, Stiles pushed his fingers through her hair and spoke quietly into her ear. “We’re here and you’re not alone, okay? You don’t ever have to be alone again. Not with us.”

They stayed like that for a while. Jackson snuffed every once in awhile next to them, huffing a big sigh before burrowing further into Isaac’s chest. Stiles kept playing with Erica’s hair, twirling his fingers into each of her curls before disentangling himself and starting again.

“Want me to braid your hair?” He asked eventually. An ungraceful snort and giggle burst from Erica that made Stiles beam.

“Do you even know how?” Erica asked sardonically. She pulled out of Stiles’ arms and tumbled into the seat next to him instead, laying her feet in Stiles’ lap.

“Um. In theory?” A loud cackle came from Erica and Stiles joined in. It wasn’t even that funny, really, but it was nice to lift the darker mood.

“Wazhupning?” Isaac said around a yawn. Erica and Stiles shared a look and fell into laughter again. Isaac stretched his arms out, another yawn being pulled from him, and his elbow knocked into Jackson’s face. The gobsmacked look on Jackson’s face as he stuttered awake was enough for them all to crack up. Jackson scowled and chucked a pillow at Isaac.

Yeah, they would be alright.

***

 _Tap tap tap tap_. The erratic rhythm of Stiles’ shoe tapping incessantly against the floor echoed in the small space of the elevator. The rest of the pack were out seeing a movie and Stiles was taking the opportunity to see Derek. He would be alone in his apartment so Stiles had thought that it was the perfect time to finally give him his gift.

Now, though, he was starting to doubt his brilliant plan. He clutched the gift bag by the handles tightly and focused on his breathing. Maybe doing this when they would be alone was stupid. Stiles should have just tossed the scarf and that stupid werewolf calendar he got on a whim at the gas station over his shoulder when he left the pack meeting the other day. That way, he wouldn’t have to see the look on Derek’s face.

When it would be just Stiles and Derek, together, alone, with Stiles’ stupid presents staring back at them, Stiles was afraid it would lay his feelings bare. That it would make it seem too important.

It _was_ important, was the thing. Stiles had spent hours, _weeks_ , learning how to make something specifically and specially for Derek. That sounded an awful lot like devotion, and it scared Stiles senseless. He knew he had feelings for Derek. Had known for a long time, really. You don’t go throwing your sense of self-preservation away for just anyone, Stiles thought. But Derek could never be _just anyone_.

The elevator doors pinged open on Derek’s floor and Stiles took a final breath to calm his nerves. He needed Derek to think that this was casual. This was anything but casual, but if Derek knew that, Stiles wouldn’t be able to get through this.

“Derek?” Stiles called into the loft. He had expected Derek to yank the door open just as Stiles reached out for it. It had become a private game between the two of them that they both derived a perverse sort of amusement from.

Instead, Stiles found Derek stirring something on the stove with his headphones on and swaying his hips to the rhythm. Stiles’ heart thumped dangerously and his head fell to the side, painfully endeared. He shook his head, his cheeks hurting from the fond smile stretched tight on his face. Whenever he was near Derek, Stiles felt his whole body just sort of slump in relief. Relief of what, Stiles wasn’t sure. But it was settling to see Derek alive, to see him _dancing_ , that Stiles found himself breathing easier.

The moment Derek turned around and made eye contact with Stiles, the calm evaporated. Stiles flailed his hands, trying to hide the gift bag behind his back. It was useless, of course, Derek had already seen it. But as soon as Derek had looked at him, Stiles felt the need to run. So far he had been silently doing things for Derek, without him noticing. This would force them both to finally acknowledge this _thing_ between them. It would mean that things would start to change. Stiles didn’t want to lose what he had already with Derek.

Derek stepped forward, taking notice of Stiles’ erratic heartbeat. Stiles darted back, swallowing.

“Here,” he squeaked. He shoved the bag into Derek’s unsuspecting arms and retreated as quickly as he could. Maybe he could reach the door and get down to his car before Derek had the chance to say anything. Of course, that didn’t happen.

“Um. Stiles?” Derek’s voice was soft and wary.

Stiles bit his lip but turned around anyway to see Derek standing there with the turquoise grey scarf raised close to his face for inspection. It might have reminded Stiles of Tarzan but he would go to his grave before voicing that aloud. Derek’s eyebrows were furrowed and he wore his constipated face. And then Stiles turned red because he did, in fact, know what Derek looked like when he was constipated. Yeah, okay, maybe Erica was right when she had said that Derek and Stiles had no regard to personal boundaries where the other was concerned.

“Yeah, buddy?” Stiles’ voice cracked and turned to avoid Derek’s gaze, finding the spiderweb in the corner of the beam on the ceiling far more interesting.

“You know it’s not my birthday, right?” Derek’s smirk winked at Stiles. Dear lord, give Stiles strength.

“Uh–yeah,” said Stiles.

“It’s September. I mean, you don’t give gifts on Labor Day, do you?” Derek paused for second, thinking back on the holidays his family had celebrated. All that he could remember them doing for Labor Day was having a barbeque. But no presents. Derek licked his lips, heart stuttering, because why was Stiles giving him a present? He didn’t do anything. Was this a joke? A trap?

“If you don’t like it, Derek, I’ll just take it back, okay? I’m sorry I– Just–” Stiles was talking with his hands, waving them around with each word. Then he froze, at a complete loss on how to explain this.

“What–” Derek’s brows knitted in confusion. “Stiles, I like this. Of course I like this, okay? That’s not the problem. I just… I don’t get _why_ you’re giving me this.”

“Why?” Stiles huffed, exasperated. “ _Derek_. This–” Stiles waved his hands at the scarf, “is nothing. Every time I try doing something nice for you, it’s still not enough because you deserve _so much_. You deserve better than a stupid wolf calendar and a poorly-made scarf. Just–forget it, okay?”

This was stupid. Stiles should have just snuck the calendar on the wall by the fridge and stuffed the scarf in the back of Derek’s closet. Without him knowing. It was the same way Stiles had snuck in all the other homey things he had added to the loft and it had been working _just fine_.

Feeling awkward and pained, Stiles tried to make a quick getaway but Derek caught his wrist.

“Wait, Stiles.” Derek licked his lips, glancing down at his hand and loosening his grip so Stiles could choose whether he wanted to stay or not. “Did you learn how to crochet so you could give this to me?”

Stiles closed his eyes and nodded meekly.

“Why?” Derek whispered the word, as if speaking too loudly would wake him from a dream. “You know you don’t have to give me anything right? I mean–Stiles. Look around this apartment, this pack. You’ve already done so much, given so much. Why would you ever think that you owed me anything?”

“Because I do!” Stiles shouted. “Everything, the loft, the pack, the scarf? That’s _nothing_ compared to everything that you’ve done for me, for us. I mean, come on, Derek. You don’t honestly think I haven’t noticed.”

“I don’t help much,” Derek mumbled to himself. Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say, because Stiles exploded. Well, again.

“ _But you have!_ ” Stiles barely held back the ‘you complete moron’. Barely. He dug his hands into his hair and pulled, leaving chunks of his hair sticking up in odd directions. The resemblance to Finstock was alarming. “Derek. You. Have. Okay? Don’t argue with me.” Stiles pointed his finger at Derek accusingly. Derek played along and raised his hands in surrender, mouth tugged down exaggeratedly.

Stiles groaned. Even when Derek was being an idiot, he was cute. Stupid werewolf.

“Hmm?” Derek furrowed his eyebrows.

Oh. Stiles had said that out loud. Of course he had.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose. He reached out and took Derek’s hand in a loose grip. “Come on, sourwolf. Maybe we should be sitting down for this.”

Derek followed behind Stiles in silence and sat down next to him, but kept a foot of space between them – Stiles wouldn’t have been surprised if Derek actually dug out a ruler to measure the twelve inches. Stiles rolled his eyes at his alpha and took Derek’s hands in his own, looking him in the eyes. He needed Derek to pay attention.

“You are the most caring person I know. Not one of them, _the most_.” He held a hand up when Derek opened his mouth to interrupt and placed it back on top of Derek’s. “You’re always there for your pack. You chose them because they needed someone to take care of them, to protect them, and you gave them that.”

“I almost got them killed, Stiles.” The pain that ghosted Derek’s eyes took Stiles’ breath away. He squeezed Derek’s hands tight, his mouth set in a determined line.

“You _protected_ them, Derek. They knew the dangers and you gave them a choice. They chose you,” implored Stiles.

“They chose you, Stiles?”

That–wait, what?

“Wait, what?” Stiles blurted.

“I–” Derek sighed, closing his eyes. “I told them about you, that you were helping me.” He cleared his throat before uttering, “That you were the only reason I was able to hold on.”

Stiles sucked in thin air, his heart lodging in his throat.

“When I came back, I knew I was too late to save…” It was still hard for Derek to say her name. “Laura.” He clenched Stiles’ hands tighter for an instant, before releasing his hold entirely. “But I couldn’t just leave her here. And then you show up. And there’s all that stuff with the alpha but every time that I should have just given up? Realized that there wasn’t a point anymore, that there wasn’t–” Derek stuttered through his next words, “anyone left. You were there, Stiles. Whether in person, annoying the shit out of me, or in my head, still annoying the shit out of me.” He said it with a sardonic tilt of the lips, finally looking Stiles in the eyes.

Stiles clung desperately to the lighter mood. He let a teasing smile slip onto his face. “Do I still annoy the shit out of you?”

“Yes.” Derek’s eyes softened when Stiles barked out a laugh. “But I, uh, like it?”

The tips of Derek’s ears turned pink, and if he didn’t have his head tucked, Stiles was sure that Derek’s cheeks were in a similar condition. Stiles’ eyes widened in glee.

“Good,” said Stiles. He bit his lip to try to tamp down his wide smile.

“This is what I’m talking about, though, Stiles. You don’t owe me anything, you’ve already given so much to me. Meant so much to me.” Stiles had opened his mouth to protest but stopped, mouth still ajar. “I _know_ you’re the one who keeps bringing furniture up here. The blankets, pillows, that coffee table?” Derek chuckled. “The plants! Stiles, I do not need thirteen plants.”

“Plants give you something nice to wake up to,” Stiles pouted.

Derek wanted to say, _I want to wake up to you_. He held back only just.

“You cook for me,” he said instead.

“No, I don’t,” Stiles instantly denied.

“Stiles, you put homemade meals in my fridge every week.”

Stiles gaped. “How did you–”

Derek quirked an eyebrow.

“Right, werewolf. All-knowing alpha. Can’t get anything past you.” A puff of air rushed past Stiles’ lips. “You’re not so sneaky either, sourwolf. Every time I pass out here, I wake up with a blanket on me.”

“You know there’s a whole pack that hangs out here all the time, right?”

“I don’t know, Derek,” Stiles said faux innocently. “This started way before that. It was either you or Peter,” he blanched at the thought, “and please, oh God, say it wasn’t your creepy uncle.”

Derek snorted. “No, it wasn’t my creepy uncle, you dork.”

“So it _was_ you!”

“Yes.” The word came out soft and quiet and Derek ducked his head.

“Oh.” Stiles swallowed. He didn’t think that Derek would actually admit it like that. He was sort of picturing Derek growling and scrunching up his face into a grimace, if he admitted. Not… Derek being so _soft_. It made Stiles want to crawl into his lap and _hold_ him. “Well. Uh, good. Um.”

Stiles cleared his throat and tried to clear his head, too. It wasn’t working out so well. They were laying everything out in the open and all Stiles could think about was how each and every time that his Jeep broke down, the first person he called was Derek. How Derek, no matter where he was, would always be there within minutes with an order of curly fries and a milkshake in hand for Stiles because he knew how withdrawn and exhausted Stiles would be. The Jeep had been Stiles’ mom’s, and every time something happened to it, it was like living through her death all over again. Derek _knew_ that. Why did Derek know that?

“Why did you tell my dad about werewolves?”

Derek immediately shrunk back, hunching his shoulders. It had been a sore subject for them at the time. Before Derek had let the Sheriff in on their secret, he had told Stiles that he wanted to tell him and they had gotten into a huge fight. It hurt just thinking about it. Stiles rubbed at his chest, trying to rub away the pain that resurfaced. They hadn’t been able to talk to each other for days, not until the omegas that had come into town attacked again.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Derek. “Stiles, I am so so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken that choice away from you–”

“Derek, it’s okay. I know it was the right choice. That’s not why I brought it up. _Why_ did you do it?” They were closer together now, the tension in Derek’s body enough to warn Stiles from reaching out. He didn’t want Derek to run.

Except that was the opposite of what was happening, Stiles realized quickly. Derek crumbled, hunching over himself and shaking and–

_Oh crap. Oh no. Derek, no._

Stiles surged forward, wrapping his arms around Derek protectively. “Derek, hey, buddy. It’s okay. I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m sorry. Shhh.”

The memory of this, reversed, flashed in Stiles’ head. When Stiles had found out that Derek had went behind his back and told his father, Stiles had gone ballistic. He had gone straight over to Derek’s that night and screamed and hit and cursed at him. All Derek had done was hold Stiles, letting him hit him and use him like a punching bag, until all that was left of Stiles was a crumpled mess of tears on the floor, cradled in Derek’s arms. It wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t healthy. It was Derek when Stiles was at his worst. And it killed Stiles, knowing that Derek would do it all over again without a moment’s hesitation. Would let his body be used like that.

Stiles pulled away. “Derek. Look at me. Please.” When Derek slowly lifted his head, his face was red and blotchy and wet, but his gaze didn’t waver. “What I did? That wasn’t okay. You shouldn’t have let me hurt you like that but _I shouldn’t have hurt you_. Not like that. Not then. Not ever. Okay?”

“You don’t hurt me.” The conviction behind Derek’s words startled Stiles.

“I did, though!”

“I hurt _you_ , Stiles! What happened afterwards? That’s–I could handle that,” Derek’s eyes looked steadily into Stiles’ but Stiles shook his head, unyielding.

“No.” Stiles held Derek’s stare for a long moment before breaking away, saying to himself, “I thought we had worked past this.” He took Derek’s hands again and said tenderly, “Derek, _sourwolf_ , you don’t deserve to be in pain. Ever. _Never_. And especially not by me. I want you to feel safe around me. I want you to know that I would never hurt you. And, God, I’m so fucking sorry that I did. Please–”

“I’ve always felt safe around you.” Stiles gave a bitter snort at that. “Stiles, please, just– Let me finish,” he chuckled. “I know I don’t deserve to be in pain.” Derek twined their fingers together and pulled Stiles more securely against his chest, settling back against the arm of the couch. “We _are_ past that. You hitting me didn’t hurt me. I’m strong, Stiles, I can heal.” And _there_ was the arrogant asshole Stiles had fallen in love with. “I thought that I was helping you, okay? Your dad needed to know about us so he could defend himself properly. I knew that we couldn’t handle the omegas on our own and I didn’t want your dad getting caught in the crossfire. He’s the sheriff and he should have known just because of his job title, but he’s also your dad. I couldn’t figure out a way to keep him in the dark where everyone came out alive. But I figured out a way to get you through it. You don’t have to apologize, Stiles. You already did, _then_ , and we got over it because that’s who we are. We’re stronger and tougher together.”

Stiles couldn’t stop staring at his grumpy, scowly… soft, quick-to-smile, emotionally mature, loving Derek.

“Oh,” he said. Derek chuckled.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” parroted Derek, tilting his head to the side and raising an eyebrow. Stupid eyebrows.

They decided to put on a movie and Derek chose _The Little Mermaid_ , much to Stiles’ amusement and incessant teasing. They stayed cuddled together on the couch, shifting into more comfortable positions when they needed to, but always lying against each other in some way or another. The only time they disconnected was when Derek got up to grab his gifts from the kitchen counter.

“So, uh, do you like them?” Stiles asked uncertainly.

Derek gave him an unimpressed look. “Of course I do, you idiot. I didn’t know they made yarn this soft.” He rubbed the scarf against his stubbled face, eyes closed as he nuzzled into the soft fuzz. Stiles’ eyes softened, gaze lingering.

“Jackson helped me pick it out actually,” he said.

“Really?” Derek popped an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know. Who’d have thunk?”

Stiles thought back on his trip to the craft store he made after finishing his first attempt at a scarf (hereby referred to as The Monster). Jackson had tagged along, saying he had nothing better to do so he might as well get his ‘harassing Stiles time’ in. When he’d been struggling to pick out a color for Derek, he had explained his woes to Jackson, who scoffed and said, “What, are you saying this isn’t for me?” He had harrumphed but pulled a few skeins from the shelf that mirrored the kaleidoscope of colors Derek’s eyes encompassed. “This shade of green looks the best on him,” he had said, pointing to the darker green. “Here, this one’s the softest.”

“He chose well. You’re still the one who made it, though. This is really good, Stiles.”

Stiles blushed and ducked his head. “Thank you.”

Looking at the stitches on the scarf, Derek furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “What happened to the first scarf you were working on?”

“Oh! Uh, you don’t want to see how that one turned out,” said Stiles.

Derek’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I think I _definitely_ want to see how it turned out.”

“I gave it to Isaac. He said that he could rock the geek horror look,” Stiles muttered.

Derek giggled – actually _giggled_ – and the sound gave Stiles such a rush of affection for his ridiculous man.

“Oh hush,” said Stiles. He slapped Derek’s shoulder lightly and crossed his arms in a pout.

“And the wolf calendar?” The corner of Derek’s mouth tilted up knowingly.

“Well, it’s not like I was gonna get the dolphin one, Derek.” Stiles shook his head, hand to his chest. He had seen the calendar last week at the gas station and bought it without thinking. Looking at Derek as he thumbed through it now, though, Stiles thought he made the right choice.

“I like dolphins,” said Derek. He jutted out his lower lip and looked up at Stiles through his eyelashes. Stiles swore it was supposed to be a funny pose, but the way Stiles’ dick jumped in his pants disagreed.

“Oh my God, Derek. I’ll get you a dolphin calendar next year, alright?” The fond smile planted firmly on Stiles’ face kind of ruined the exasperation he was trying to convey.

“Promise?” Derek leaned in close, their foreheads practically touching. The proximity gave Stiles the perfect opportunity to see the gold flecks in Derek’s eyes. His eyes were a light peridot right now, just a little hint of blue watered in. Stiles would be content to stare into Derek’s eyes all night.

“Promise,” said Stiles.

As natural as breathing, their lips found each other’s in the dimly lit loft, urged on by Sebastian singing _Kiss the Girl_. Derek licked into Stiles’ mouth, eliciting a low groan from him, and cupped his jaw between his hands to deepen the kiss.

“I’m not a girl,” Stiles mumbled against his lips. Derek chuckled and nipped at Stiles’ chin.

“Definitely not,” Derek murmured. He pulled back infinitesimally and ran a finger down Stiles’ cheek. Stiles’ eyes fell closed, shivering slightly underneath his touch. “ _Kiss the Dork_ , more like.”

Stiles' eyes popped open and he squawked, hitting Derek’s arm playfully. “I am no such thing, good sir. _I_ , I’ll have you know, am a certified genius of elegance and wonder.”

“You’re certified, alright,” Derek joked. Stiles cackled and dove on his neck. “ _Oh_.”

“‘Yeah, oh,’” Stiles quoted, smirking.

“Oh my God,” Derek groaned. “I hate you.”

"No, you don't," Stiles whispered against his lips.

“No,” Derek agreed, kissing him again. “I really don’t.”

It was harder to kiss with their smiles stretched so wide, but they made it work.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally adding my [tumblr](http://tiedtogetherwithadagger.tumblr.com/) here!! Come check me out when you're bored, I don't bite!


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